


The best gift ever

by ChocoNut



Series: Many ways to say I love you [63]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deviates in 8x2, F/M, Fluff and Mush, Love Confessions, Post Knighting, Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 07:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20903960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Soon after knighting Brienne, Jaime decides to give her another gift.





	The best gift ever

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I cannot write drabbles.  
While this isn't a drabble, it's still for today's JB week prompt "Gift Exchange"  
Thank you for reading and enjoy!

He gazed at her from a distance, immersed in the beautiful sight of her joyous face bathed in the flickering radiance of the fire. He’d never seen her this happy before, and so content, in spite of the bleak and unending night that awaited them. He let out a long and wistful sigh, drifting away into their past, reliving every moment he’d shared with her, hoping, if they survived, to seize a chance to do more than just admire her from afar. 

Longing was an underestimation of what he felt for her. Years of association, interspersed with recurrent meetings and tearful partings had sown the seeds of--_ what, exactly? _

Hatred and revulsion, it had begun with, the negativity between them gradually paving the way for respect, regard and the readiness to stand up for each other. Friendship, it had soon given way to, one so deep that he’d share with none other, and after it, came much more, feelings he’d been dreading to give a name to until now.

“Tell her.”

Startled out of his dreamy recollections, he turned to glare at his brother, displeased to have been pushed away from, what could most likely be his last chance to muse about the best parts of his life. 

“Tell her what?” he demanded in an agitated whisper.

Tyrion beamed encouragingly. “That she’s your world. That you can’t imagine life without her anymore. That you’d like to spend every minute of your remaining days with her, that--”

Jaime suddenly felt weak in the knees because every word his brother said was nothing but the blatant truth. “Tyrion--” 

“--you want to father her children, grow old and die by her side,” went on his brother, showing no regard nor the slightest acknowledgement for his feeble intervention.

One part of him was filled with an urge to rush to her and spill his heart out, to hold her tightly and kiss her senseless, to make promises to her for a lifetime to come, and hear the same from her, while the other, more doubtful half of him pulled him back, anxious about how she might react. He’d perceived fondness in her eyes, and perhaps more, but whether it translated to something as deep as the love he felt for her, he couldn’t tell.

“Have you given it to her?” asked his brother.

“Not yet.” 

The day he’d sought her out at the training yard, he’d wanted to give it to her, her guarded reaction to his presence, however, holding him back until he could find a better time and place for it. A few hours back when he’d made her a fellow knight, he had once more been tempted to give her his gift, but yet again, the fear of her reaction had kept him at bay, the thought swept away as quickly as it had come.

Tyrion clicked his tongue in impatience. “Are you waiting for the gods to point you to the right moment? Don’t you think that giving it to her tonight would be the most romantic thing to do?”

Jaime tossed her a glance, mulling over his brother’s suggestion as he took in her happy face again. She was laughing and chatting with Pod, never before so satisfied with life, and the thought that he, to an extent, was responsible for the smile on her face was motivation enough for him to go on.

“You’ve given her one gift tonight,” Tyrion continued to encourage him. “What’s better than another that would seal your fates together?” 

Without waiting for an answer, Tyrion dragged him towards the pair sitting by the fire. “Podrick, why don’t you and I have a little chat elsewhere while my brother has a conversation with Ser Brienne? I’m sure you have a lot to tell me about your progress.”

Blank at first, Pod glanced left and right between the two brothers, a look of understanding lighting up his face when he eventually met Tyrion’s eyes. “I’d love to, Lord Tyrion.” Exchanging a quick look with Brienne, the squire rose, following Tyrion to the entrance.

“Sooo,” dragged Jaime, taking the chair opposite hers once they were alone, “how does it feel to be a knight?” he asked, having nothing else in mind to open the conversation with.

She graced him with a warm smile that stirred up a lot of things in his heart. “I hope to live up to it,” she replied, subconsciously touching Oathkeeper’s hilt, her fingers caressing the lion on the pommel.

“You will,” he gushed, unable to mask his fondness for her. “You’re the best knight I’ve ever known, the most skilful warrior I’ve seen, unmatched and unbeatable.”

The smile on her face died away. “First you insult me beyond proportions, Ser Jaime, and now you flatter me far more than I deserve. Do you always do things in extremes?”

_ Yes, _ he wanted to say, to scream out to the world, _ I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, _but courage, once again, failed to stand by him, reducing him to a nervous lad who’d never wooed a maiden before.

Deciding to take Tyrion’s advice, he sprang to his feet. “Come with me, Brienne,” he said, wanting to show her instead.

Puzzlement clouding her face, she stayed put on her chair. “Where--”

“I’ve got to show you something. Would you do me the favour of stepping into my chambers for a moment, my lady?”

She stared at the fire thoughtfully for a few seconds, then to his relief, got to her feet. “If you insist.”

They left the hall, traversing the winding passages in silence, every second no less than a lengthy hour for Jaime, apprehension taking over every bit of him, his heart fluttering away madly as he hoped she wouldn’t turn him down. They were there finally, and he was spared the agony of waiting any further. “You first,” he said, holding the door to Tyrion’s room open for her. 

“So why have you brought me here?” she inquired, stepping inside.

“This way,” he said, leading her to a table.

Holding his breath, he watched her reaction in rapt attention, noticing her expression shift from shock to surprise to wonderment as she took in her hands the symbol of his love for her - the shield he’d commissioned for her soon after he had returned from Riverrun.

“It’s--” She could speak no further, but her face and every other bit of her said it all - the way she caressed the piece of metal as if were her beloved, the way her eyes moistened when her fingers came to rest on the Tarth sigil he’d specially ensured was engraved for her. The way she directed her gaze at him once she was done admiring the shield conveyed far more than words ever could, the array of emotions hidden behind that look filling him with a ray of hope that she, perhaps, loved him too. 

His hand joining hers, he traced a path along the crescent of the moon, his fingers brushing hers as they travelled. “It’s yours.” 

She bent to examine the shield properly, an excuse to shield her eyes from him. “First Oathkeeper and the armour, and now this,” she said, looking slightly downcast, “while you’ve been showering me with gifts, I’ve given you nothing, Ser Jaime, and even tonight, I have nothing to offer you in return.”

_ Stupid woman, _ he agonized in his heart of hearts, _ she still doesn’t understand the meaning of this. And I’m such an idiot for being unable to tell it to her face. _

“It’s a gift, wench,” he gently admonished her, “I don’t expect anything in return. That’s why they’re called gifts.” 

“I don’t deserve so much,” she said softly, her liquid eyes tugging at his heartstrings.

_ You deserve the world, wench. I hope I can give it to you. _

Taking a deep breath, he made up his mind to bare it all, with or without the support of his nerves. “I deliberately had the symbol of House Tarth embossed on this shield, a perfect match for the lion on your sword. Doesn’t this tell you something about my intentions, Brienne?”

Returning the shield to the table, she straightened, her eyes rising to meet his. No doubt, she’d understood his underlying meaning, for her lips parted in surprise and a pretty blush crept up her cheeks.

Taking advantage of her silence, he advanced a couple of steps, taking her hand as he spoke. “Coming back to gifts, my lady, there _ is _ something you actually can give me.”

“What is it?” she whispered.

“The sword, the armour and now this shield, they’re all a symbol of my love, Lady Brienne,” he confessed at last, letting himself be drunk in her eyes, “and the sigils on them a hope that our hearts and houses might unite one day. Give me the gift of your love, wench, for there’s nothing else I’d want if I were to survive this long night.”

Love, no doubt he could find when he searched the depths of her eyes, but when she spoke, it was with a touch of uncertainty, this time. “You can easily find someone far better than me--”

“There’s no one better than you, Brienne,” he cut in, squeezing her hand, “you’re the best. You’ve brought out the best in me.”

“I’m a knight, mannish and--”

“That you are, but you’re _ my _ lady too,” he jumped in again, eager to shoot down her excuses. “None there will be, if it isn’t you.”

“I know nothing about being a lady--”

“Nor do I know anything about marriage or a family,” he intervened, tilting his face to hers. “It’s a journey I wish to set out on. With you, holding your hand for the rest of my life.”

“But--”

He swooped in to kiss her, unable to contain it within himself any more, aching to show her how much he loved her. With this sweet union of their lips, he hoped to convince her that he’d make her the queen of his heart. He’d live for her and die for her and spend every moment with her.

_For_ her.

A smile, after years, he’d managed to put on her face tonight, and he’d do everything to see her like that, never to let a trace of a tear, nor a hint of sadness mar the beauty of the woman he’d come to admire and love beyond anything else. 

In just a span of the next few seconds, he showered her with a million kisses, just a meagre compensation for the tons of opportunities he’d given up all these years, his reluctance to act all along making him want to stay within the comforting circle of her embrace all night. When she kissed him back, life was bliss, the wench’s clumsy lips a far contrast to Cersei’s, for they screamed of her affection for him, something he’d craved beyond anything else, the touch he’d yearned for all his life. 

“You were right, my lady,” he exhaled into her lips, “I do have a tendency to do everything in extremes, and I don’t regret it even a bit. Torment me no more, and grant me the gift I wish for, Brienne,” he asked of her again, hoping she wouldn’t hunt for further excuses.

She wound her arms around his neck. “Without you even asking, I’m yours,” she admitted with a shy smile, “I--” 

The blast of the horn made her stop mid-sentence, and her smile faded away the next second, a shadow of panic taking its place as she drew away from his embrace. “What if one of us doesn’t survive tonight?” she cried, clasping his hand. “What if we don’t get a chance to begin a new life?”

Jaime tightened his grip on her hand, and knowing instantly what he had to do, he began chanting, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger--” 

“I am his,” she chimed in, threading her fingers in his, her breathless voice and the words she’d uttered filling him with a mix of elation and disbelief that this was actually happening, “and he is mine.”

“I am hers,” he said, feeling like the luckiest man in all the seven kingdoms, “and she is mine.”

“Hope we meet again after the war,” she said, pressing her forehead to his.

“We _ will _ meet again after the war,” he asserted, placing a tender kiss on her nose. “After all, we’ve got a lifetime to spend together, _wife_. Countless nights of lovemaking to come, lots of babies to make.”

Her mouth curved in the loveliest smile he’d ever seen. “You will have your gift, my lord,” she said, her lips meeting his again, “I promise.” 


End file.
